He said yes, she thought, biting her lip as a grin spread across her face. Heat rose to her cheeks as she remembered the moment when she'd stepped closer. For brief second, she thought he was going to—to kiss her.

"What has you so smiley?"

Feyla jolted back to the present where she was going through the motions of dancing with Beryn. "I was just thinking about...something."

Beryn raised an eyebrow. "All right, all right. Keep your smiling secrets."

He led them around the courtyard in a display of grace and elegance. They danced along with the music, keeping perfectly in time. Feyla tried to seem halfway engaged, but it was becoming harder and harder to concentrate as every step brought her that much closer to the man she really wanted to dance with.

Assuming he hasn't already bolted on you, a rare, cynical part of her thought.

"It's been quite a while since we danced together," Beryn said, looking down at her.

She pushed the thought away, huffing at Beryn's remark. "I wonder whose fault that was."

Beryn gave her a half-smile. "I guess I deserved that one. Listen, Feyla, I know we didn't part on the best of terms. Both of us could have handled it better--"

"Both of us? Beryn, you invited me to your estate, and when I made a vague reference to meeting your mother, you panicked and broke up with me!" Feyla said harshly, trying to keep her voice from getting too loud.

"Exactly! You were pushing me for all this commitment--"

She rolled her eyes. "You think everything is a push for commitment. Excuse me for assuming our relationship was actually going somewhere."

He spun her around, a look of mild annoyance on his face. "Look, I'm sorry I hurt your feelings. But I've been think lately, and relationship or no relationship, we always got along pretty well. I think we could work well together."

"What are you saying, Beryn?" Feyla asked tiredly as they stepped away and rejoined.

"I'm offering you a job," he stated bluntly.

Feyla misstep, her foot landing on top of Beryn's.

He cringed and spun her off it. "Thanks," he grunted.

She winced in sympathy. "Sorry!"

"It's all right. But I was being serious about that job."

"As what?" she asked as they stepped back into the dance.

"My assistant. You always used to complain about working for--"

"No," Feyla said calmly.

Beryn's brow furrowed as he looked at in puzzlement. "You haven't even heard what I'm offering."

"I have a job. One that I like it. I don't need another."

For a moment, he seemed almost offended, but then his lips curled into a knowing, victorious smirk. "I know what this is about."

She scowled and resisted the urge to dig her nails into his hand. "What?"

"Come on, Feyla. You've been at this for ages. Please tell me you're not still hoping that he'll ever really care about you," he said flippantly, practically laughing at the thought.

"He does care about me," she whispered.

Beryn rolled his eyes. "You really are a romantic, aren't you? I've been around the man since I was a kid. Trust me, the only thing he cares about is his job and himself."

Feyla jerked herself out of his arms. Her hands were shaking and her eyes stung from holding back her fast-developing tears. "No, Beryn. That's you."

He blinked in surprise, and for a brief second, she thought she saw a flicker of pain in his eyes, but her bubbling anger kept her from confirming it.

"Feylie, listen--"

"Do NOT call me that!" she shouted, no longer caring about the people around them. She inhaled a shaky breath and wrapped her arms around herself. Her nails dug into her skin as her hurt and anger grew. "Thank you for the dance. I need to go," she said with only the slightest tremor in her voice.

Her dress flared behind her as she flounced off the dance floor. She gripped her decorative sash and tightened it with a vengeance before letting the ends drop back to her side again.

Feyla weaved through the party guests, smiling politely and giving a rushed hello to the few people she knew. She'd made up her mind. She was going to prove that Beryn didn't know what he was talking about. Sedgewick cared. The real question was to what degree. That was something she wasn't going to wait around wondering about anymore.

She was tired of trying to read between the lines. Tired of having to constantly keep up with Sedgewick's changing moods. Tired of having him alternate between acting like she was an assistant, a friend, or a pseudo-love interest. It was time to tell him how she felt so she could either wrap him in her arms or move on with her life. Because at this point, even rejection would be better than the pain of not knowing.

Right?

Feyla shook her head. No more doubts. No more guesswork. No more backing down.

The pavilion came into view and she sighed with relief at the sight of Sedgewick leaning against it. He hadn't caught sight of her yet, so she took a moment to smooth her dress and hair. Breathing in as if she was about to plunge into the lake, she stepped into view. "There you are."

He wasn't ready for this.

After arriving at the pavilion, Sedgewick had proceeded to mentally list all the reasons this was an utterly horrific idea. Whenever he wasn't doing that, he was met with an increasing number of flashbacks to the last time he'd danced with a woman alone in a garden. Which was now forever tied to other, far less pleasant memories.

He paced across the pavilion in an attempt to alleviate his growing agitation. This wasn't what he wanted. He didn't want to feel things. Gates, he didn't want to remember feeling things. He knew where that lead and he was never go down that path again.

It was all Feyla's fault, really.

He shook his head and slumped against one of the columns. That wasn't entirely fair. Feyla was simply acting like...Feyla. Caring, considerate, a bit nosy. The real blame lied with himself. But no matter. In a few short days, he'd have his magic back and they would both slip back into their standard routine. Then everything that had happened over the past few days would become a hastily fading memory that he could push back with all the others.

He moved to run a hand through his hair but stopped himself. It actually looked halfway put together and he didn't want to muss it up before Feyla--

Sedgewick immediately yanked his fingers through it. It didn't matter what she thought of his appearance. Let him look like himself.

"There you are."

Feyla strolled towards him, looking as lovely as ever...objectively speaking, of course.

She climbed up the two short steps to him. For a brief moment, they stood there silently staring at each other as if uncertain how to proceed.

Finally, Feyla reached forward and brushed a few strands of the hair he'd messed up back into place. "You know, for someone who doesn't particularly care about his appearance, you sure do clean up nice."

Sedgewick snorted.

"Although, it probably helps that you're wearing clothes that actually fit you for once," Feyla teased, alluding to the fact that he tended to keep his clothes until they were ridiculously stretched or shrunk. She glanced at him pensively while fiddling with her sash. "I know it probably doesn't mean much but... I think you look rather dashing."

His ears perked up slightly before he could stop them. He'd never considered himself particularly attractive. In many ways, he believed he was like his cat. A scrawny runt that looked like he'd been eaten up and spat back out after being found unappetizing. He couldn't recall the last time someone had said otherwise.

"Thank you," he answered quietly.

The music picked back up, changing to a slower, more familiar tune.

Feyla quirked her ears and grinned. "I love this song."

A small smile tugged at the edges of his lips. He was rather fond of this one as well.

"Would you care to--"

"Do you want to--"

They both stopped and laughed nervously. Sedgewick swallowed as Feyla blushed and did that lip-biting thing she seemed to do so often.
He hesitantly reached for her hand.

Her hand closed around his own, soft and warm in his grip. Her other went up to his shoulder as his circled around her waist.

They began to dance and it didn't take long for Sedgewick to remember just how much he used to enjoy it. This wasn't like with Inia where he'd been chiefly concerned with casting the spell. Dancing with Feyla felt...natural. They were evenly matched in skill and soon progressed to more advanced steps. Neither of them said much but they held each other's gaze and for a while, no words were needed.

Sedgewick felt strange. His chest was thumping and his back was starting to tingle, but he swore he'd never felt better. His panicked thoughts from earlier had vanished as if they held no sway over the current moment. Feyla smiled at him sweetly and his eyes kept flicking down to her lips.

"I still can't believe you can dance. You've been holding out on me," she teased gently.

"Well, it's no fun if you don't have a worthwhile partner," he said, the words escaping without thought.

Her lips parted and his eyes once again flicked down to them, halfway tempted to cover them with his own.

Until she kissed him and the temptation became unnecessary.

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Finally! Am I right? Don't forget to vote and comment to let me know what you thought! Any guesses about how things are going to play out in the next chapter?